


All My Loving

by actual_iggy



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Finale, like i dont usually get mushy but here we are, like really hecking fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actual_iggy/pseuds/actual_iggy
Summary: Established Fiddauthor relationship! Ford writes letters to Fiddleford while he and Stan are on the seas investigating the supernatural.





	1. September 2012

_Late September, 2012_

Dear Fiddleford,

I have decided, despite the protests of my companion, to begin journaling to you, like the sailors of times past who missed their lovers. I cannot write to you every day, and though modern technology continues to impress me, we will not always be within a phone service area, or have the Internet. Thus, let this journal serve as a documentation of both my adventures on the seas and how much I adore and miss you every day.

I cannot help but to be reminded of the Beatles’ song from our college days: _“Today, I will kiss you, tomorrow, I’ll miss you, but remember, I’ll always be true, and while I’m away, I’ll write home every day, and send all my loving to you.”_

Signing off for now,

 Your most faithful,

   Stanford Pines

* * *

 

Dearest Fiddleford,

I have won a bet against my brother today! I assured him a month ago that we could sail north of Oregon and travel to our destination via the Northwest Passage. He informed me he did not think such a thing exists, to such an extent that we made a bet- If I was correct, he would owe me $20, and if I was wrong, it would be the opposite. I know more about Earthen geography then my less-educated twin, so I have won! Other than that, we are continuing North.

Patiently yours,

  Stanford Pines

P.S., Stan asked me, in the most condescending tone, if I was writing about my victory in my “book ‘o’ gayness.”  I thought you may enjoy the… colorfulness of his description.

* * *

 

Dear Fidds,

        I recalled today the nickname everyone in college used with you. Your family always used “Fiddsy” or “Fiddles,” so I imagine it was only natural that you would pick a similar shortening once you left the farm for college. Do you remember college? We were roommates by random assignment at Backupsmore, you were a rebellious flower child and I a nerdy 18 year old who focused hard on my studies. You were the reason I had any friends in school, you know. I, being somewhat dense as a young man took three quarters of classes and rooming to realize you were interested in me in “that” way.

One particular summer break we had gone to your family’s farm to stay, and in the dead of night snuck out with your neighbor Emma-May and sister Marion to spy on the feral hillbillies in the woods, and we wound up chased across three pigpens by one! I remember all of us as we finally lost him, climbing one last fence and all collapsing in a pasture and laughing, breathless and muddy, your eyes catching the moonlight enough to shine like sapphires in the dark. That, love, is when I knew I was smitten.

Stan has made the comment about the “book ‘o’ gayness” again after peeking over my shoulder. He should know that it is **rude to watch people who are writing, Stanley**.

I must put my book away, and attempt to rest, as tomorrow we are reaching Tuk, one of the northermost Arctic ports. We will travel to the town of the same name and ask the locals about supernatural happenings.

Goodnight and I love you,

   Stanford Pines

* * *

 

Dear Fiddleford,

        We have a lead! I am thrilled!

The Inuit families who primarily inhabit this remote, icy town are friendly towards outsiders, telling me they see many research vessels at their port and welcome science. I began to ask shopkeepers and other citizens about anything supernatural. Stan attempted to flirt with some women, but of course I was not interested, as I already have all the love and flirting I need.

A local hunter told me the tale of the _Qalupalik_ , a malicious creature that wanders the shores and snatches children up into its parka if they wander too close. He went on to explain the creature’s appearance: A humanoid woman with long black hair who seems normal at first glance. Once you come closer, it turns and you can see its true nature. It has pale green-tinted skin, empty black eyes, sharp teeth and claws. A monster.

I have picked up every bit of literature on every sub-Arctic Native legend that I can in an effort to see if other groups in the area have similar mythos. This, dear one, is what confirms a case of a paranormal being. A case closer to home of this would be the Sasquatch. Their species has been sighted by different cultures in different places of the world for decades, therefore there is a strong case for a cryptid to exist, rather than merely a story of one designed to scare children.

I do apologize for rambling on about cryptozoology for so long, but I have a feeling you find it endearing. You always have told me how my eyes light up when I am discussing my passions.

I must research now, love, but I will always hold you in the back of my mind, no matter what thoughts of Inuit and Tlingit legends swirl in my brain.

Faithfully yours,

        Stanford Pines


	2. October 2012, Part 1

October, 2012

Dear Fiddleford,

 We are embarking on a hunt!

You see, I have spent the last two weeks feverishly scanning local libraries and the Internet to find if my suspicions are correct- if these child-kidnapping monsters are a cryptid creature rather than a legend used simply to scare children. I have found that there are stories of such creatures all over the Arctic, all over the world! Every Arctic culture has a story of a monster that steals children from the shoreline. All of these “monsters” are known to have a low call, called a hum in some accounts and a whine in others, and a few who describe the sound as “singing!” I have also found firsthand video recordings and accounts of the sounds, but not yet one of the creature.

That, Fidds, dearest, is where Stan and I come in. We are more than willing to put our lives on the line to prove these creatures’ existence. The plan thus far is to travel along all of the rural and coastal Arctic routes we can and ask locals for leads on the creatures. A girl Stanley was speaking to in Tuk last night told us that she believes her brother was taken by a _Qalupalik_ , not drowned and never recovered, as the official medical cause of death states. There are too many accounts to widely spread for it to only be one being, it has to be a species! Perhaps some sort of predatory mercreatures! If I get a nice enough photo, I will have to send it! I am sure you and Tate will enjoy that!

I must go now and pack supplies for our first stay- a house on the outskirts of Tuk where a family fishes for a living.

Excitedly yours,

     Stanford Pines

* * *

 

Dear Fiddleford,

        The Adjuk family are gracious hosts. The grandmother of the family, a woman who is older than even Stan and I and nearly blind, passed to me a story she and her siblings have from when they were young, when the town of Tuk was not much more than a village. She, her two older brothers and some other local children were playing by the water, when they all stopped to stare at a woman standing on a rock just beyond the shore. Mrs. Adjuk then went on to explain how she remembers to this day the glint of the woman’s straight, black hair shining in the harsh spring sun, and how her parka- a particular kind used by Inuit women to carry small children- had beadwork and small talismans on it, “rather like ceremonial clothing then something a village woman would wear normally.”

The tide began to come in, and the children began to call to the woman to move off the rock. She seemed to not hear them, so they approached as close as they dared, calling “some in English, some in Inuktitut (the local native dialect),” for the woman to come off the rocks. A wave came, chasing the children back towards the shore for fear of getting their feet wet in the cold water. One of the smaller children tripped and fell into the water, and as the others stopped and turned to help him to his feet, he had vanished and so had the woman. A few days later, a search party found a shredded and soaking wet child’s parka with an identifying marker- a beaded rendition of a rabbit- on it. The lost child’s.

This chilling firsthand account is exactly what I am looking for! It means the creatures have shown up consistently in this area, and therefore Stan and I may encounter one! The real hope is to capture one and study it, but anything I can get to document it will be amazing!

I have gone on about my work for far too long. Let me reminisce once again about times that I can remember. Perhaps it will help your memory issues if I recount these things. After all, back in Oregon, it was my niece recounting her stories of the summer to Stan that allowed him to recover from the effects of the same ray which harmed you.

 

Ah, we are being summoned for dinner now, so I must put my book down and reminisce another time.

Lovingly yours,

   Stanford Pines

* * *

 

Dearest Fiddleford,

I have remembered a time more recent- in 1981, when you had come to help me with my research project- the one that eventually turned disastrous. Tate was visiting from his mother’s home in Palo Alto- the first he had seen you since you had left for Oregon, and we had spent the day in town and the woods. He was young, only four or so years old, and as such you were a terribly anxious father to him and the words “Tater, come back here” and “Tate, that isn’t safe, come here” were uttered a lot. I always loved watching you interact with Tate. You are a very good father, in spite of everything. Even when you hardly remembered your own name, you apparently attempted to spend time around your son.

We fell asleep in my living room, to the gentle sounds of the frogs and owls outside, the children’s movie playing on the TV inside and Tate sprawled across our laps. It was picturesque, and beautiful. Of course, Tate only stayed a week, as we were working on dangerous research and he was small. I have been told that despite barely remembering your own name, you made an effort to spend time with Tate during my absence, which is lovely and very much in-character for you.

I love that you love your family, and perhaps there could have been more moments like 1981 had I followed your example sooner.

Yours,

  Stanford Pines


	3. October 2012 Part 2

Fiddleford,

Let me talk about the first time you noticed my biggest insecurity- my extra fingers.

We were taking the same advanced chemistry class, and as such we partnered up for a lab day. You were quickly moving around, because the faster we finished our lab work, the sooner we could go back to the dorm room or ride to a diner or park with all our friends in that VW bus you bought from your cousin Sorghum for $50 when you left for college and did repairs for yourself. I recognize that that is a run-on sentence, and if it irritates you then say the word and I will omit details in favor of grammar. You bustled over to me, pushed your hair from your eyes (you always had your hair terribly long and shaggy in college!) and told me to put gloves on and start pipetting our compounds. Now, a detail you may have forgotten about me is this: I can force my final two fingers into the last finger of a five-fingered glove, if I have to. However, it limits my coordination and my hand will become sore after a while. I did not know what to say, as I had spent my life being afraid to reveal my deformity due to bullying, and had never really considered this situation, so I stood there, stammering like an idiot, hands up in defense, until you did a double-take. My heart sank as I realized you had noticed the anomaly, but then began to beat quickly as you gently pushed my hands down and told me you would do the hands on work and I could solve the required equations from now on when we had labs.

It is a fond memory I have and I hope that you are soon able to recall it too.

Yours,

   Stanford Pines

* * *

 

Fidds,

I know, love, it has been a couple of weeks since I wrote a letter, I have been absorbed in my work. You see, we have caught a glimpse and some physical evidence of a _Qalupalik_!

 

Stan and I (despite his complaints about the temperature) camped out on the beach outside Tuk. I set up a childrens’ doll dressed in a toddler’s parka and boots obtained from a local shopkeeper as bait, close to the water. Then I set up a night vision camera and set myself up in a position to observe the site for extra insurance. Stan went to sleep, but not only am I accustomed to a very minimal amount of sleep, I also find it impossible to rest when excited or working.

I drifted off sometime around 3am and woke to a soft noise that was different then the ocean waves and distant barking of nocturnal seals- a hum. It was soothing and melodic, like a mother calming a child, and I knew it had to be the creature I was after. I looked at the feed from our night vision camera and I saw it! A pale humanoid creature approaching the doll, its black hair straight and long and covering its face. It wore a long parka that I identified as being made from caribou skin- not unheard of in this modern town but usually reserved for ceremonies or reenactments. As it drew closer to the doll, it raised its head and put its hood down, showing me its face. Black, empty eyes, sharp, shark-like teeth and flat rather than human facial features. Now that I could see its face it looked more like a sea creature than a human.

I was excitedly documenting the sight in my field journal when Stan came out of nowhere and charged at the creature. I spoke to him later and he had made a decision to try and catch the creature for our research, which I told him was terribly unwise. Its soft hums turned into a screech as it turned to face my brother and for the first time, I saw its hands. Long, webbed fingers ending in two inch long claws.

To spare the details (as I am sure Stan will tell you all about it when we return to Oregon), he wound up with his jacket torn open by the creature and a claw mark across his face.

But! I have collected the video of the creature and plan to send it to the Stanford University Mythical Creatures Research department! Perhaps cryptozoology will become a respected field yet, Fiddleford!

Lovingly yours,

  Stanford Pines

* * *

 

Dear Fiddleford,

We have traveled back south to Thompson, Manitoba, a city in Northern Canada. It feels nice to no longer be camping in rural areas, I will tell you that much!

Speaking of rural places, do you remember much about the farm you grew up on? Your family raised pigs, and you had nine sisters! Five older and four younger, and you were the only boy!

I would sometimes visit on school breaks, as we were best friends even before our romantic relations ever began. You laughed at my “city boy” ways and I tried my best to fit in and not get hurt. You did not like being at home very much, despite the fact that you love your family. The atmosphere of rural Tennessee was just too conservative and harsh for your tastes. I always enjoyed the small town charm of the place, which is also something I enjoy about Gravity Falls. Gravity Falls, is, of course, far more accepting and liberal than your hometown was, so I think it’s a better environment for your son to have grown up in, but I did enjoy those visits.

I am unsure how old Tate was when he moved to Gravity Falls, but he must have at some point because he lives there now!

He lives there, and perhaps someday, he will have an intelligent and doting step-father.

Love,

  Stanford Pines


End file.
